London Night
by xxHunter
Summary: FrUK France/England FrancexEngland An one-shot AU in which Arthur is a night cop and Francis works at a gastronomy magazine. Arthur and Francis' regular night.


At night, the London streets belonged to no one. The roads and avenues that were filled with tourists and working men by day time had only lonely policemen occupying their corners when the last train was gone. The darkness made everything look less important. And even the incredible London Eye didn't look much important at 3 in the morning, Arthur thought, while looking around, making sure that he wouldn't trip on the sidewalk consumed by darkness.  
The silence was so intense that he could hear his own heart beating in his chest, he could hear owls, just as lonely as him, flying very far from there. But most of all, he could hear his bloody phone, suddenly ringing in his pocket, making him jump in surprise.  
And of course, he groaned, looking at the name on the screen, of COURSE Francis would be awake at this time, sending him messeges so he wouldn't get bored. The englishman cursed in a whisper as he read his boyfriend's name on his phone, next to a pixelized envelope that screamed at him "Hey, Arthur, you got a text! Open it or I'll keep screaming your Coldplay ringtone untill your ears bleed!" So he did what every man would, he opened the damn text, blushing in surprise upon noticing it wasn't a normal one, but a bloody photo. Of a bloody shirtless frenchman, making a face that should be against the law. And made Arthur shut his phone quickly, moving his hand to his face, so to massage him temples and repeat to himself that he did not want to go home. Stupid french bastard. Why couldn't he be asleep like everyone else?  
With a deep sigh, he close his eyes for a moment, and opened his phone again, to text back a sharp "Go to sleep", looking around as to pretend he was actually having a lot of work to do. No one in sight, of course. It was winter in London, and no criminal would go out three in the morning to, let's say, invade the parliamental house or something. Not in this weather, Arthur added mentaly, with a sneeze that confirmed his thought. It was bloody cold.  
Not even five minutes went by and his phone ringed again. Another photo, of course, and Arthur blushed even more, gulping and staring at his screen as the words "When will u b home?" appeared right after the two images. Francis was bored, of course, why else would he be sending his poor english boyfriend pictures of himself in a warm comfy bed, wearing nothing but his underwear? He wanted to make Arthur unconfortable, it amuzed him. And Arthur thought he should just tell him where to shove his cellphone if he wasn't going to sleep. But that would lead to a possibly very embarassing sexual joke and soon they'd be sex texting. He knew it was going to be like that. It was always like that. So instead, he just decided that he'd break the mood, by simply texting back "It's bloody cold in here".

To which Francis answered "I can warm you up. Come home." And Arthur could just sigh. It looked more like the other was pleading now, so he felt a little better, like he was in control. "I'm working.", he wrote, snifing, maybe he was getting a cold. "No one's comiting a major crime today." Francis sent back.

That was possibly true, the roads were deserted, but he already didn't get a good enough payment doing what he did, and he wasn't about to skip work and risk losing part of the little amount of money he could make in this bloody job. "No. Go to sleep." he texted back.

Some minutes passed by, and he had to wait a few more to make sure (with a deep sigh that wasn't from dissapointament ) that Francis had given up and was finally asleep. He pushed the cellphone back in his uniform pocket and adjusted his police cap, looking around and up, noticing the stars and the moon, something rare to see on the constantly cloudy skies of the city. He smiled softly, noticing how tired he really was. And he wished he had kept talking to Francis for another hour or two, maybe just untill his shift was over and he could go home. But then again, Francis probably had work to do tomorrow. With his magazine getting popular, and so many articles about food to write. The englishman didn't even noticed he was frowning. Like food's the most important thing in the world, that's how he acted. Talking about gastronomy and how Arthur was KILLING his paladar by eating his sallad at the same time that he ate his meat, or something around those lines. It was bloody annoying. Arthur didn't pest him about how careless he was while driving, or how he shouldn't wave his expensive phone around when he was on the street.

...Okay, maybe he DID pest him about all those things, but it was only out of concern, right? And Francis wasn't CONCERNED about him when he talked about his eating habits.

And the englishman groaned, thinking that, knowing Francis, he actually probably was.

Those and some other useless thoughts about Francis and some other things crossed his mind through the rest of the night. How Francis used to spend the whole morning in the bathroom and how annoying it was, how he would make him pancakes whenever he had the time, and he always brought him coffee in bed when he felt that Arthur was too tired to get up on Saturdays. He remembered that he had yet to pay the light bill, and wondered if Francis had remembered to call his boss and ask about the vacation they were planning. He thought about finishing college, if he would have the time to do it once he got the promotion. And he also thought about what he had to buy on his next trip to the market. He closed his eyes for a moment to make a mental list. "Bread, butter, Earl Grey, and- I should ask Francis if his coffee is over yet..." and once he opened his eyes, he noticed the sky wasn't as dark as before, and it was probably time to go home.

The first thing he did once he crossed the wooden door was throw his cap over his shoulder and let his body fall limp on the couch, as he heard Francis laughing in the kitchen, he had probably watched his dramatic arrival.

- Tired as always, mon cher. - he heard the other sigh, and felt a warm hand smoothing his hair. - You're freezing. I told you you should have taken that turtleneck sweater.

- Don't you have work to do? - Arthur groaned, but he really didn't want the other to go away. His face was red because of the cold air and Francis' hand was so warm and gentle that he felt himself almost drifting to sleep right there.

Then he felt a peck to his lips, making him open his eyes, Francis grin was the first thing he saw. Ugh, he hated that stupid perfect grin. He was always like that when he was feeling in control, the bastard.

- I do have work, as a matter of fact. But I can do it all on my laptop. I'll even let you sleep next to me while I do it, mon amour~

Arthur glared at him, but didn't object, sitting up on the couch and rubbing his eyes. "Shall we go upstairs?" he heard Francis mumble, and noded simply, heading to the bedroom with the other.

And his life was simply like that. His work, his studies, his boyfriend and his troubles all falling numb into a weird mixed up routine. An every day life that he sometimes despised, or loved, depending on his mood. When he was finally in his pajamas and laying with Francis in bed, the soft noise of typing was the only sound he could hear, like a lullaby. And he was sure that if he said it out loud Francis would just laugh at him, calling him a dramatic.

But yes, he was dramatic. He made a big deal out of everything, sometimes. But Francis did the same so he couldn't just complain. They fought about little stupid stuff all the time, mostly because they teased each other so much, and at some point one of them would get really offended. Probably Arthur.

And said one wasn't sure of how long had he been remembering old querels with Francis, the small and the big fights. Starting with a simple "What do you want for lunch" or a more serious, like "When are you going to do something and help with the house". The fact was that, they fought. And it was almost always Francis fault, of course. He groaned, realizing he had never said that to the frenchman, but when he opened his eyes to tell him all that, he was gone, the window was open and it looked like it was already noon.

* * *

**Hello!  
It's been a while since I posted the last story, but I really liked this one and decided to post it here.  
Same as always, English is not my first language, please point out any mistakes, etc etc.**  
**I don't even know what it is about, I think perhaps Francis and Arthur live together, and since Arthur used to be a punk he ended up being a night cop.**  
**I have no idea if that's how night cops work in England, but oh well.**

**I'm not planning on continuing this, but let's see!**  
**Also, I'm almost, maybe, writing a new chapter for Pirates, All Aboard! because of the sweetest message a girl (AnaMachado, if I'm not wrong) sent me some time ago. u**  
**Let me know if you liked this fic! **

**Beijinhos!**


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